


Muscle Memory

by fragrantwoods



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Caprica (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: bsg_kink, F/M, Guilty Pleasures, Secret Relationship, Smut, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the BSG-Kink theme of imagine your favorites acting out a fateful romance trope and getting kinky while doing it, prompt: Bill/Laura, Laura/Joseph - Love father, love son</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muscle Memory

It’s not always.   
  
Just sometimes.   
  
When he bends her over a desk (not the side of his rack, or the arm of the couch). When he’s on the edge of too rough, when his words could come across as uncaring, dismissive, if they were heard by someone who didn’t know him.   
  
When her imagination takes his encouraging “There, you’re almost there, Laura” and flips it into an echo of  _“Whore. You’re a whore, Laura.”_  
  
The night Bill carelessly left musty law books on the desk, it was particularly strong, the scent dragging her back. She boxed them up as soon as he fell asleep.   
  
His fingers are always so gentle, so careful when he enters her. Maybe it’s her illness, or her age…or his.   
  
No.  
  
Age doesn’t gentle Adama men. She knows better. Like she knows what she’s doing when she twists and bucks until he can’t help but jab and thrust harder than he intended. Her personal clock is ticking faster and faster and she comes to terms with wanting what she wants. There’s no way he could know. She’s not hurting him with this once in a while mental infidelity.   
  
There’s a break in their schedule, some unexpected privacy, an urgency stronger than what she felt on New Caprica in the calm days. He’s willing and ready, thrilled to follow kisses and caresses with a rear-entry quickie, skirt up to her waist and bent over (once again, and maybe for the last time) an Adama desk.  
  
His hand brushes her fragile hair once before slipping to her shoulder and pulling back hard. She catches her lip between her teeth to stifle the now-impossible “Pull my hair” exhortation, the “you sick frak, you cheating bastard” that’s all mixed together in her head.   
  
He roar-grunts his orgasm and when they’re like this, only when they’re like this, he sounds like his father. She’ll take this to her grave and pray none of the painkillers loosen her tongue in front of him.   
  
The evening she tells him that way hurts her breasts, they need to retire the desk and stick to his rack, he’s sweet, solicitous, agreeable. She doesn’t even know why she tears up in the privacy of his head. Not for Joseph, certainly. Maybe for her youth.  _My misspent youth_. She washes her face, avoiding her eyes in the mirror. Her wicked little grin morphs into a loving smile by the time she opens the door and walks away from her memories.   
  



End file.
